


For the Realm

by aknepperuniverse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, F/M, M/M, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Post - A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:07:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1891605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aknepperuniverse/pseuds/aknepperuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Meereen, Daenerys Targaryen's hold on the masters has weakened. Slavery continues beneath her blind eyes, and without Ser Jorah to guide her, she is lost. A slave that goes by the name of Clegane escapes Meereen to find refuge in his homeland of Westeros where trouble brews in the North. In the South, the daughter of the Lady Sansa craves to leave her cage after a mysterious messenger reveals that a long lost relative has been found. Many challenges must be faced, and friends must be found in unlikely places.<br/>"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Rest for the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, this is my made up totally bonkers story. As a general rule you want to pretend that nobody has really aged for the past twenty or so years except for the Straks and their respective spouse (i.e. Sansa, Sandor, ect.) This is mostly because I find in this alternate Game of Thrones world I don't imagine Jaime, Dany, Jorah, Tyrion ect to be +50 years old (which they would be if I was doing this correctly) But perhaps it is also because in this world I find those characters who I haven't aged up are stagnant and stuck in their own story line, whereas other characters have a little bit more growing room, and variability. An example would be Tyrion, he is stuck by circumstance with the Second Sons and Cersei is stuck by choice of being in her twisted little world of manipulation. Both Story lines are more predictable than Sansa and Sandor who are a little more open ended. Please Enjoy, and leave Comments at the Bottom!
> 
> Also, All rights go to GRRM, nothing is mine:)

In Which a Caged Beast is Unleashed

His heart pounded against the wall of his rib cage for escape. He had lost track of the days he has been imprisoned. The desert to the east lay in waste as far as the eye could see.

West. He needed to go west.

  
His chains bloodied his wrists ad his iron collar suddenly seemed to choke him. The burning sand scorched his feet, the smell of rotting flesh was tangible in the moist, hot air. Still, his feet carried him to the waves that crashed against the shore on the coast of Meereen. Finally, reaching the splintered docks he slowed his pace. His sunburnt skin seared from the sweat trickling down his back, and he searched for something to cover himself and his manacles. He nicked a word rough spun cloak that was draped over one of the many barrels lined up on the warf. It was stained and too short, but it would suffice for now. The docks were more choked with sailors and traders than usual, but it made no matter, he was blind to all. It seemed as though an entire fleet of Quartheen ships were in Meereen today.

  
Meereen's fighting pits had been revived. The Dragon Queen allowed the masters to continue their sacred tradition of pitting one man against another for blood, glory, and most importantly, entertainment. He had been captured and sold from one master to another. His strength and height earned him a place amongst the ranks of the warrior slaves. Day in and day out he fought for survival.

  
West. He needs to go west.

  
Before him sat several Qartheen ships with oars protruding out of each side. There are at least three slaves at the end of each oar on those ships, he thought. Trying to think quickly he maneuvered his way through the crowd. He was ever aware of his great height and stature; he tried to hunch over so he may appear to be some old creature.  
Then he saw her. The most beautiful ship he had ever seen came into view. It was braavosi, of course, draped in the silks of Qarth. Its distinct engravings were disguised as he was; to the untrained eye, unnoticeable, but at a second glance, unmistakable. It was a Braavosi ship; he was willing to bet his life on it. This ship could be the passage to what he had been denied for so long: freedom.

  
Braavos is known for its intolerance to slaves. The giant stone titan that stood at the gates of Braavos was a slave in legend, and its entire people took pride in their freedom. If only he could figure out how to board the ship before he was caught. He hoped.

  
He swallowed his fear and darted onto the ship. On deck no one was about. No captain on deck, no sailors amongst the sails, and no one below. Suddenly, he heard a shrill whistle and looked for its source. A small man in the crow's nest peered over the walls of his perch with two fingers in his mouth he sucked in more air and gave another sharp whistle. Clegane cursed himself as he saw the ship’s sailors come rushing up the docks and on deck. He put his hands up in surrender hoping against hope that they would not bring him back to his captors. He swallowed and his chains clinked together filling the silence.

  
A plain man of about six feet and a few inches, with hair like the sand strode on to the deck last. He sauntered up to him. Blue eyes peered at Clegane through thick eyelashes and suddenly he was very self-conscious. His only clothing was ragged, muddied breaches, a stolen cloak, manacles, and his iron collar. He subconsciously licked his lips as he waited. He is not sure what he was waiting for. Damnation, execution, condemning, or perhaps even acceptance from this man who seemed to be the captain. Long minutes seemed to pass, and everyone was so still. Clegane did not dare speak first. The captain, he knew, would decide his fate, and he would fight through the seven hells to ensure his fate was one that he wanted.

  
After what seemed to be forever, the captain bowed his head.

  
"Valar morghulis,” he almost whispered.

  
“Valar Dohaeris,” he sputtered out as he lowered his chains.

  
The Captain smirked and Clegane was taken below decks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is really short but I swear they will get longer!


	2. Out of the Past Part I

An Unwanted Visitor

Mother was fussing with her knots in the corset.

"Take a deep breath," she demanded.

Not seeing the point in arguing, Lyra sucked in her tummy as much as would please mother. Looking in the mirror, Lyra saw her and her mother's identical auburn hair, and deep blue eyes. Lyra pitied her. Poor mother, who must deal with a wicked child such as me. Even at her nine and ten years Lyra had not yet married, to her mother’s dismay. She now had lost count of how many suitors she had chased off.

"He was a Knight!" Mother exclaimed more than once, after Lyra had no doubt scared away another _suitable_ man. To which Lyra could only think with disgust, _yes, he was a knight._ Lyra humored her mother many times by dressing up like a doll, but most days she wore breaches and a rough spun tunic, so she could train. Ever since she was little she wanted to fight like her father. Her mother also disapproved of this, she could tell by how sad Mother would become when she would watch Lyra training with her bow in the courtyard.

“What’s this behind your ear?” Mother pointedly asked. Lyra quickly reached up and wiped away the dirt that she missed from earlier.

Mother scowled.

Poor mother, she tries so hard to lets us be who we are. Lyra knew her mother had a difficult childhood. She hardly ever spoke of her life before she wed father. All Lyra knew is that mother grew up in the Riverlands, a daughter of some lowborn man. But she was so beautiful, even now Mother was stunning. She caught the eye of father, when he stayed the night in her home town when he was the old King Robert Baratheon’s man. That was the story where they rode up to Winterfell so the King could ask Lord Stark to be the hand. Lyra loved this story when father would tell it. She loved the wild North with the direwolves prowling amongst the trees that would grow for miles and miles. The Wierwood trees and their deep blood red eyes used to scare her as a child, but now she would love to see one, more than anything.

Lyra has never been outside of Highgarden, and she envied her father who was traveling around now, on adventures. Father has been gone for a little over a month now searching…no, she wouldn’t think of it, he’s been gone for so long, and it hurt her chest to remember.

Then there was a knock at the door. Lyra’s handmaiden poked her head in the door before entering, ever cautiously. Maya the maid was familiar with Lyra and her mother’s bursts of anger. Maya was very aware of how Lyra felt about suitable men coming to see her.

“Lyra, you have a visitor,” She tried to sound cheerful.

Without a word Lyra stood up straight and nodded to Maya as she walked out of the room. Lyra descended down the marble steps in the keep of Highgarden. Mother followed silently behind. The stair was open to the fruity smells, and lavish sights of the city. Golden flowers expanded and flowed from the verdant earth as far as the eye could see. The Sun peeked from behind an ivory cloud to illuminate the beautiful gardens. Lyra lived in the beautiful city as long as she could remember. The Lady Margaery was very fond of Mother ever since they met in the capital, and now her family were all welcome guests here in the beautiful city.

Today, however, lost some of its beauty for Lyra. Mother had invited a suitor to meet her. Lyra hoped against hope that he was rude, or ugly, or clumsy so Mother could disapprove and send him away. Lyra had no interest in men. However, she desired a love like her mother and father's: passionate and loyal. Lyra had such a relationship with her weapons. Lyra favored her bow but she was just as lethal with a sword, her body was her greatest weapon though. Lyra began to learn when she was quite small. She would sneak into the courtyard and watch the boys train. When father had caught Lyra trying to practice like the boys with his sword, he decided to teach her properly so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Ever since then she has trained to fight. A bloody, glorious death in the midst of battle is what Lyra desired most, not to be married to a man who could have what she could not. However, today was not her day to die. Today is her day to meet this "eligible " suitor who will sweep her off her feet.

The man was in the common room, which was decorated beautifully with the banners bearing the gold rose of house Tyrell. Vines crawled up the walls bearing the same golden flower. The man was tall. Very tall, not as much as her father. He wore a yellow cloak with little red markings on it. As she approached she realized they were red ants. House Ambrose, Never Resting were their words. The man turned around gracefully, a handsome face. Brown eyes, fair skin, and a straight nose. He was no doubt acceptable by mother's standards. _Let us see how fairly he speaks_ , Lyra thought disdainfully.

"Good morning, My Lady Lyra," He said politely, "My name is Ser Alyn Ambrose, how lovely it is to meet your acquaintance."

"I am no lady," Lyra responded, her nose crinkled at the word.

"Lyra!" Mother exclaimed, "That is no way to act."

"Sorry, Mother. How do you do _Ser_ Alyn," She mocked.

Alyn Ambrose's smile did not fade for a second, he reached for her hand and lightly kissed the top, he watched her the whole time. His facade of manners and politeness annoyed her. Father always told Lyra to trust her instincts, and without knowing the knight, Lyra knew Ser Alyn was bad news. For the first time it seemed Ser Alyn noticed Mother. His eyes narrowed it a most uncomely way, and then popped comically. He sucked in a breath and backed away slowly. He fell to his knees.

"My Lady," he bowed his head.

Lyra would’ve laughed at the sight, “I _told_ you, I am not a Lady, you ar-“

"I had thought you dead." he breathed, almost too quiet to hear, his eyes rose and locked on the sight behind her.

Lyra's head snapped to look at her mother whose eyes where the size of saucers that contained almost the same sense of recognition that Ser Alyn's had.

"What is he-" Lyra asked just as her mother ushered Ser Alyn to his feet and out the Common Room's large oak doors.

"Good Morning, Ser Alyn. We so appreciated your visit, give your family our best wishes." Mother rushed through her niceties, always the lady. Mother nearly shoved him out the door and closed it promptly behind him.

"Mot-" Again mother interrupted her.

"Not now Lyra, you were quite right. He was far too irritating. Ask one of the maids to help you out of that dress. I must lie down." Mother distractedly ordered.

"But mother, what did he mean?" Lyra pleaded, Confusion laced upon her face.

"That is enough Lyra. Go on with your day. I will not make you meet another one if you do not choose too. Ser Alyn- Hewas clearly not suitable for you,” Then Mother narrowed her eyes onto Lyra.

“Do _not_ ask me about it again," Mother warned so sternly, she almost flashed her teeth and growled by the end. Mother turned curtly and marched back up those cold marble steps. Lyra stood alone in the vast room as she watched her mother ascend the stair.

She felt a sudden chill, and her mother, the queen of ice, was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think!


	3. Waiting to Exhale

**In Which the Captain and the Captive Reveal Themselves**

In the dank hull of the Braavosi ship, Clegane was yet again, a prisoner. The sailors kept him fed and hydrated. A royal treatment compared to Meereen. They had set sail, but not for long. Three days past, they were still in Slaver's Bay he wagered, but he could not know for sure from below decks. Clegane wondered why they were moving so slowly.

On the fourth day the Captain paid him a visit. He wore plain clothes to match his plain face. Many knives were holstered around this man's waist and he could tell there were many more beneath the surface of his clothes. This man looked strong, perhaps not an admirable leader but a true sailor. The captain sauntered down the steps and directly in front of his cell. He leaned against the opposing wall with a coolness he seemed to naturally achieve.

"Who are you?" The Captain asked in the common tongue, not impolitely.

He immediately realized that this man's accent was of Westeros. He did not recognize it before when he was speaking in the smooth tongue of Valyrian. Clegane was painfully aware of the reputation his name held, and he was not about to hand it out lightly. Especially if this Westerosi had encountered either of the Clegane brothers in his lifetime, he knew there would be blood.

"I am no one," Clegane answered.

The Captains face froze for half a moment. Clearly he was not used to being told “no”, but he quickly regrouped and resumed his cavalier attitude.

"I will only ask you one more time, who are you?" He emphasized his question with hardness in each syllable. His demeanor demanded cooperation. But Clegane couldn't surrender to the captain so easily.

"I am a slave of Meereen,” He shifted his stare from the Captain’s piercing eyes, “nothing more," he stated, his eyes fixed on the Captain’s worn boots.

The captain moved with such speed, Clegane did not realize how close he had gotten until he spoke. His hands gripped solidly around the bars of Clegane's cage, the captain barred his teeth like an animal, and sternly demanded,

"Who. Are. You."

Clegane focused his gaze to the raging storm, wreaking havoc in the Captain's eyes. Defiance flared up in Clegane, he was not intimidated so easily. He rose to his full height within the cage and looked down at the man in front of him.

"Who are _you_? Why am _I_ here? What do _you_ want from _me_?"

His last question was less powerful then when he began, but something clicked in the Captain. He did not seem frightened, but recognition flashed across his face as if he had seen a ghost. He looked as though he couldn't help himself as he blurted out, rather clumsily,

"My name is Dean. I'm from the Iron Islands. And I don't know why you are here, but you are." the Captain whispered in a daze. He looked as though he wanted to walk away. As though he regretted saying what he said, but the captain’s feet didn't move and inch. Suddenly, the captain seemed small and vulnerable.

Clegane was surprised at the admission, _Ironborn_ , he thought to himself, _He doesn’t exactly live up to his mother’s tales about the cruel Ironmen of Pyke but it makes no matter, I’ve played this game long enough._ Clegane squared his feet and narrowed his eyes,

 "Why am I _here?_ In this cell, on _your_ boat, _why_ did you keep me?" _prisoner_ , he almost said, but the word was lost in his anger.

"I dreamed of you," said the Captain on the breath of a whisper.

Suddenly, light flowed in the dark cells as five burly sailors barged down shouting in Valyrian. Clegane did not understand, but the Captain clearly did, his eyes went wide. Two sailors grabbed the captain by the arms and dragged him towards the steps while he cursed at them. One sailor approached the cage, he was much shorter than Clegane, but he looked as strong as an ox. His skin was as dark as pitch, and the sweat on his brow made him glisten. He scowled to show a glint of gold in his mouth, and he unlocked Clegane's cage. Clegane, in awe of his sudden freedom, didn’t even think to struggle against the sailors as they escorted him into the blinding rays of the sun.

The Captain- No _Dean_ struggled fruitlessly against the sailors, who held an iron grip on his arms. Clegane was suddenly aware that this was mutiny. The whole crew was shouting furiously in Valyrian, words Clegane would never understand. Clegane watched as the sailor, who seemed to be in charge of the coup, stepped into view. He made a bee line for Dean. The man spoke rapidly in a deep, and threatening voice. He was nose to nose with Dean before he took one step back and the sailors released their grip on Dean and sent him overboard. In shocked of what he just witnessed, Clegane was barely aware of the sailors on either of his arms startng walking Clegane towards the rails. Clegane took the hint and elbowed the man to his left in the jaw and he slammed his foot into the instep of the sailor to his right. He was free, but not for long. Four more men tackled Clegane to the ground. The wooden planks scratched into Clegane’s bare back. Two more sailors joined in. One punched Clegane so hard he felt his nose crack brutally. Blood flowed cruelly into his mouth choking him until they all hoisted him up to his feet. In the distance he saw a red city as he was thrown overboard into the water. And the beautiful Qartheen ship sailed away.

Slaver's Bay engulfed him whole. The water constricted his throat. His legs turned to lead and his manacles around his wrists weighed him down. He fruitlessly kicked and moved against the current. The need for oxygen gripped at his lungs. Clegane's last reserved of air bubbled from his lips and he felt his eyes begin to close. His motions were slowing as he vaguely thought of how this shouldn't be happening. He had just escaped; he needed to find his home.

CLegane felt a comforting pressure around his chest, _this is what it feels like,_ and He thought to himself, _I’m going to die._ The water rushed down all around him. His drenched black curls blocked his vision, the blood from his broken nose began again to freely flow down his face, and Clegane greedily sucked in a breath of air. Clegane pushed his hair out of his eyes to see that the captain had wrapped on arm across Clegane’s broad chest and held him afloat. After a few moments, Clegane had been given a chance to breathe, his head felt blurry and strange, like he had just woken up from an eternal sleep. Clegane slowly released himself from the captain’s grip and began to tread water. Clegane turned to the- Dean.

He never knew what possessed him to tell the captain his name, perhaps it was pity for the man who had lost his ship, or maybe that he saved him when he could’ve left him to drown,  in any case, he reached out his hand to the sea drenched Captain and simply said,

"Clegane, My name is Kaelor Clegane."


	4. Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit

One week earlier…

Daenerys’ fine Toqar fluttered as she took her seat next to Hizdar. It seemed that no matter how light her clothing was she could not escape the sweltering heat of the day. Servants came and brought platters of food in ornate bowls and plates. Dany was presented a glass of wine; she shook her head and asked for water instead.

Today would be the first that the tradition of fighting would be permitted. The arena looked as though it used to be quite grand. However, the sun’s harsh rays and the years have caused the clay and stone to crack and crumble in places. Even so, the meerenese sat and stood and cheered as warrior after warrior was slaughtered in the arena.

Hizdar shuffled closer to her, and Ser Barristan flexed his strong fingers on the hilt of his sword. Hizdar seemed fond of her; Ser Barristan seemed less fond of him. The entire affair was rather bloody and dull. Dany did not care for it.

"Try one of these honeyed locusts my queen, they are sweet and hot at once," Hizdar urged.

"I will content myself with the dates, thank you." Dany replied.

Strong Belwas extended his large arm and clutched a large handful of the honeyed locusts and stuffed them in his face. Soon he grabbed the whole bowl and feasted.

Two dwarves entered the arena for relief from the violence. One was riding a dog like a horse and the other, a pig. They were pretending to joust, which brought the masses of Meereen to roaring laughter. Dany uneasily shifted in her seat, _there’s no harm being done here_. She tried to convince herself.

"Now release the lions!” The Shavepate’s voiced boomed the command. “then we will really have a show," the Shavepate lustfully chuckled.

Dany was aghast.

"You mean to have them eaten by lions? They agreed to _this_?"

"Not necessarily," the Shavepate gave an ugly grin.

"I will not allow-" Dany started, but it was too late.

Three lions entered into the arena from below. Their skin hung off their bones loosely. The obviously starved lions licked their chops and circled their prey. Dany stood with horror strewn across her face. Totally helpless, she felt stuck in her place.

And then suddenly, everything happened at once.

Behind her, Strong Belwas was on his hands and knees retching up the contents of his stomach. And angry shouting started in the arena. Dany whipped back around to see a man sprinting from below the arena where the lions came from. He was large, strong and he was running towards the dwarves who had huddled behind the dog. Two of the lions were already fighting over the terrified pig, and oh, it _squealed_. Roars of disapproval emerged from the crowd. The man was covered in dark hair.he was fighting the last lion and he- _Ser Jorah!_ Dany barely had time to think of how amazed she was that he was here when the piercing sun was eclipsed. Great black wings lowered Drogon into the area, and how the people shrieked.

Dany felt it. She felt the wounds of Meereen, the screams of her children echoed inside of her, and then faded away. Dany didn't think; she did as her feet bid her. She jogged out of the box, she was vaguely aware of Ser Barristan shouting for her. But it didn't matter; she shrugged out of her Toqar and started to run. All but one of the lions escaped Drogon's wrath. As she reached Drogon she saw Ser Jorah hoisting one of the dwarves off of the limp body of the other. Blood gushed from the throat of the fallen dwarf, and soaked the sand. Dany turned to Drogon, _my child_ ; he narrowed his gaze on her. _No_ , she thought, _I am your mother._ Drogon reared his head and a bright blaze funneled around her. _But you do not recognize me._

And all turned to flame and ash.

Dany could hear her name being shouted in the distance. She saw the world around her burn in flames. And she felt nothing. _This was never my home_ , she thought sadly. Dany mounted Drogon, and Ser Jorah reached his out hand.

"Khaleesi!" He shouted.

 _My bear, my strong bear_ , Daenerys Targeryan thought as she grasped his open hand. They flew away from the burning waste of Meereen.


	5. A Wolf in Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the length of time in between updates. I just want you to know that I'm always working on this but some days its harder than others:) Tell me what you think of this one!

Sansa hasn't spoken to anyone in a week. Still shaken from Ser Alyn’s visit, she sat alone in her chambers and reminisced. S

Sansa had never spoken to him in King’s Landing, yet at the time he was a bit younger than her, and he fancied one of Margaery’s cousins. Still, their little interaction was enough. Enough to remember her as the scared fragile thing she used to be. She would have to explain to Lyra of how she came to know Ser Alyn, and everything else, in due time.

She has lived in Highgarden for the past twenty years undisturbed and unafraid, that is, until Ser Alyn showed up at her doorstep. Margaery welcomed her, and her family to live modestly in the castle where Sansa would be safe and her identity hidden. Clegane has been her name, her shield, and her disguise for all these years, and those who knew better did not share their speculations. Highgarden was not Kings Landing.

She felt sorry for lying to her children. She had never told them that their lineage reached back to the ancient Lords of Winter. Sansa thought it was for the best. The Starks were safe as long as everybody believed they were dead. The glory of titles, lands, and claims has been lost on her ever since she married. _Sandor_ she thought wistfully. She wished he would return to her, but she knew he couldn’t. She couldn't bear to think of the things that took him away from her side. She just couldn't.

Sansa had become talented at repressing her emotions while in captivity in King’s Landing. Joffrey, Cersei, Littlefinger, even Sandor had taught her either purposefully or accidently how to survive by holding her tongue and hiding away within herself.She remembered with disgust, _King’s Landing_ , it seemed a hundred years ago when she was still betrothed to Joff, until the Lady Margaery made her appearance. She was beautiful, kind, and Sansa’s saving grace. Without her, Sansa would still be huddled within herself, searching for comfort in memories of the dead. Joffrey was cruel, but she did not revel in his death. When she escaped King’s Landing Sansa remembered another lifetime when she left Winterfell, and she never even looked back. Foolish as she was back then for thinking Joffrey would cure her starvation for fairy tales and adventure. She forced herself to not glance at the Lion’s Den she left; in hopes that maybe Cersei Lannister’s home may suffer the same fate as her own.

All those years she wasted looking for her Florian. But she was as much of a fool as Florian was. She was never meant to play the part of Jonquil in this life. She thought, of course, for a time that she would find love in Joffrey, and perhaps salvation in Ser Dontos. But above all she looked for safety from her Florian, as young as she was did not recognize that Littlefinger was anything but safe. She never understood how dangerous he was until he- Until her Aunt died. After Marillion was incarcerated for Aunt Lysa’s death, for days he sang. He sang and sang and sang all through the nights he spent in the sky cells, until the day came where he no longer sung. Afterwards, she had lost the heart to wish for her life to be a song. She only wanted to live.

Littlefinger treated her kindly. When he kissed her, Sansa realized his kindness for her was only out of the love he still held for her dead mother. She chose to manipulate that love. Sansa had no plan of where she would go after she escaped. But escape she must. Leaving King’s Landing she thought would make her safe, instead she found that she only fluttered out of one cage to land in another. Being the caged little bird she was she looked for her opportunity everywhere. Littlefinger kept her under heavy guard for _protection._ Sansa had heard that tune before. However, Littlefinger allowed her to pray in the godswood. The withering Wierwood tree reminded her of home. She prayed for salvation, safety, security, and home. And at last her prayers were answered. She felt _it_. She didn’t know what it was about its old bark that struck her but, it was so familiar…

_Knock, Knock._

“Lady Sansa?” Maya asked cautiously.

Sansa simply nodded, still a little distracted by her thoughts. The maid brought fresh linens, and turned to make Sansa’s bed.

“Your daughters are asking about you, M’Lady,” Maya stated gently.

“I wish to be alone,” Sansa thought aloud. Sansa enjoyed Maya, she was kind and well-spoken for a maid. Maya was probably a little too involved with the Clegane family’s comings and goings, but she never lied. Sansa liked this most about her. So when Maya would get too familiar with her, Sansa could forget that.

“Though I do suppose an explanation will be needed,” Sansa continued.

“Would you like me to tell her that you are not feeling well, M’Lady, to give you time?” said Maya.

“I do not enjoy lying to my children, I am _not_ Cersei Lannister,” said Sansa, a little brusquely.

“Of course, M’Lady.” Maya continued to busy herself.

Sansa thought for a moment, and she was utterly torn. _I wish Sandor were here_ , She thought.

“Tell me Maya is it better to protect the ones you love with a lie, or the truth?” question sense.

“The truth, M’lady,” replied Maya.

“But what if the truth is dangerous?” Sansa insisted.

“Beg your pardon M’lady, but the truth is only dangerous to those who don’t know it. Do I have your leave to go M’lady?” Maya inquired.

“Yes. You may leave, Maya. Thank you.” Sansa replied.

Sansa sat near the window and looked at the gardens below her. _I must tell them the truth_ , she thought.  _We've lived in peace for this long, and all of these lies are breaking us apart. When Kael found out…_

Sansa resolved to tell her children the truth. The whole truth. Sansa closed her eyes and let out a sigh. _I must be brave_ , she thought. Sansa opened her eyes. Dusk was upon them, an orange glow illuminated the gardens and on the horizon- _There’s a rider,_ she thought in surprise, _two! Two riders!_ Sansa leaped from her seat and rushed out her chamber door. She descended down the steps as quickly as it was polite and down the corridor to enter the garden. Sansa hoped against hope that it was Sandor and Kael. _Oh please let it be them._

She wound through the gardens, past the armory and towards the stables where the gates had just opened. She thought as Lyra appeared behind her. The men barely seemed to move, and the first was hoisted down from atop his dapple grey horse. The stable boys laid the man on the ground and pried off his helm. His entire face was torn and slashed. More open flesh than skin covered his face, and the injuries continued down his body. The second was a little stronger, and slowly let himself down off his grey gelding. The man took off his helm to reveal a shock of red hair. Sansa’s spirit was crushed. “Name yourself!” One of the Highgarden guards demanded. Several more appeared in their gold and green armor and cloaks. Sharp steel accompanied every one.

The red headed man didn't seem to hear as he knelt beside the other man slowly. His head was bowed and he gathered the other man into his arms, and started uttering meaningless sounds. The guards of Highgarden drew their swords.

“I’ll not repeat myself again, who are you!”

The redheaded man still, held the other in his arms, rocking back and forth. Whispering, Sansa realized, no – _weeping_. And she could just barely make out what he was saying.

“Aegon, oh gods no. _Aegon_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment! Tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Cool? awful? Just plain weird? Even if it bores you to tears I want to hear about it! My ultimate goal is to become a better writer, so the more comments the merrier! Also, I would like to point out that this is in no way supposed to concur with the events in aDwD. My purpose is to try and explain some of my theories on what I think my happen in the end of this story that is "A Song of Ice and Fire" While throwing in some SanSan action, of course. Which is again one other reason why they are more aged up, along with some other reasons that hopefully I can explain along the way :)


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